Ivory Boy
by TheInternetHomo
Summary: Dan Howell competes nationally in youth piano competitions all across America with his father at his side. One glance changes everything. Phan. Rated M for mature content. Based on a prompt given to me by tumblr user phansturbate.
1. c h a p t e r o n e

**Title: Ivory Boy**

**Word Count: 1025**

**Pairing: Phan**

**Summary: **Dan Howell competes nationally in youth piano competitions all across America with his father at his side. One glance changes everything. Phan. Rated M for mature content. Based on a prompt given to me by tumblr user phansturbate.

**Chapter One**

I have a home nestled in between deep cracks of ivory. I have a song hidden in my heart that needs to be sung. I have a twitch in my fingers and a skip in my step as the constant melody plays through my head. It forces me to be alive, yet I have no clue how to live. My chest aches and my feet tap uncontrollably. I shiver until the song pours out of me through my fingertips, and for the first time in forever,

I feel alive.

* * *

There's no particular reason why I started to take piano lessons, I think I just wanted to be able to control something larger than myself. That's always been a problem for me, being out of control, even when I was a little kid and just starting off. Piano allows me to express myself without talking for the most part; it's my favorite part. I'm only loud when I'm touching the white or black keys, and sometimes not even then. Part of me finds this to be fine, but the other, more honest part, wants to call me a freak.

Maybe that honest part is correct in some aspects.

"You ready to win?" My dad shoots me his familiar, cocky smile, and I nod, because if I don't, he'll be upset. My mom probably knows I'm nervous, but I wouldn't know. I haven't spoken to her in five years. It hadn't been all about competition when she was around, and it still isn't for me. But it is for my dad, who's supporting me through this financially. He pats me on the back and kisses the top of my head before leaving me alone behind a long, red curtain. It's just me. Plus the hundreds of people in the audience, which is almost nothing compared to nationals last year, which I had lost.

I swallow my nerves and bottle my frustration because I can't afford another loss.

I can't survive more mental tormenting.

"Contestant number 238," My number is called, not my name, because that's all I am to these people, a number. I crack what seems to be every joint in my body just by twisting my core. My feet carry me to the grand piano that sits center stage, and I find myself center stage. Beads of sweat start to form on the nape of my neck as I sit and the heat from the lights hits me. My formal attire never has been pleasing.

I cough, look offstage, and then back to the piano. My sheet music already sits before me. The whispers beg for me to begin playing, so I do. My fingers hit the ivory, and I find my home. I can feel the notes leave kisses on my cheeks as they fly out of the piano and string together into a song. My heart sings along, beating to the rhythm my own foot creates.

I look up for a brief moment, for I know this piece note for note, and I know I can improvise if I mess up anyways, and in that brief moment…

I see him.

He stands offstage, out of the spotlight. I believe his hair to be dark, but I honestly can't tell because of the lighting. He wears the same as I do; a suit and tie. I'm breathless and relaxed yet so stiff to the point where my fingers have no clue where to turn. He makes eye contact with me and I swear I see sparks that blind me and put me out of it for an indefinite amount of time. Wasted time. I don't recover until I find my fingers twitching back to life and making a recovery. I do not look at the keys, nor do I look at my music. I look at this boy and the bag of chips in his hand and I let my fidgeting fingers play. I let my heart sing and I let droplets fall from my eyes because for the first time in forever the sweeping sensation of adoration has completely blown through me. All I can do is play and become a human fountain.

He must see the look on my face, because he gets this smirk that makes me want to get up from this damn instrument and learn all about him.

I play until I can't, which ends up being ten minutes later, right before the time limit. I take a breath, and I drown in applause.

* * *

"I don't know what the hell that was, Dan, but it was stupid and gutsy, even for you." My dad spits in my face his hand wrapped tightly around my wrist.

"Dad, I'm sorry, but you heard them, the crowd. They were cheering so loud, Dad."

"I don't care about the crowd!" He drops my wrist and runs a hand through his hair. "The judges, w-what did the judges look like when you finished?" I bite my lip and look at the poster hanging behind my dad that reads "_Mind the Hatred_".

"I'm not sure, really. I wasn't really looking at them."

He groans. "You must pay attention, Daniel." I cringe at the formality of my name.

"Yes, dad."

We wait for the results for three hours. I do not see the boy who caused me to mess up. I'm starting to forget what he looks like and the feeling of euphoria is fading fast. I don't want the unexplored emotion to fade, no not yet. I refuse to let it fade. I refuse to forget the image of the boy, and I refuse to listen to my dad's terrible chatter.

_Black hair, black hair, black hair…_

_Suit, tie, suit, tie, suit, tie…_

_Eyes… eyes? Green eyes? Blue eyes?_

Shit.

"Pardon our interruption but entry numbers 238, 397, 002, 195, and 1633 are requested to return to the concert hall. Numbers 238, 397, 002, 195, and 1633 to the concert hall please.

I've made top five. I've made it to the state competition. But I can't relax, because I haven't found that boy, that beautiful boy.

And maybe I never will.


	2. c h a p t e r t w o

As always, I'm sent back to the hotel on my own after the competition; my dad usually ends up going to a bar to brag to the other parents about how well I did. I'm glad he isn't here, because I know he's upset with me, and his words are only harsher when they have something to fuel them. I reach the hotel room in an uncomfortable sweat. My suit is too tight; my fingers are cramped and beg for me to run them through my all-too-neat hair. I don't mess anything up until I'm inside my locked hotel room, my dad always tells me that appearance is the most important part of performance. I disagree, I think performing is the most important part of any performance, but I'm not about to argue with that man.

The door closes behind me with an accidental heavy thud, a sound that most typical hotel room doors make. A grin spreads across my face as soon as I know I'm alone and the feeling of freedom washes over me. It's times like these when I can truly be free, well besides when I play the piano. My cramped fingers reach up and ruffle my hair. I walk past the small hallway mirror and laugh at my reflection as I see the flicks of hair starting to re-curl. My tie comes off rather quickly, as does my shirt; my pants give the typical daily struggle I've learned to love. I rip open the dresser drawer that holds my dorm pants and sleep shirt, which seem to practically fly onto my body, giving me an inanimate hug.

I'm crawling under the thick, overused (but comforting) blankets that rest on top of my bed just as a knock is heard at the door. I freeze, in the fear that it's my dad and the excitement that it might not be. Neither of these emotions can overpower the lazy groan that escapes me as soon as I get up from a position I had barely been present in. The knocking continues until my hand grabs the handle of the heavy door. I'm a tall person, but the peep hole in the door is planted so far up, I have to stand on the tips of my toes. If only there weren't a giant smudge on the glass, then maybe I could see my visitor.

I open the door, and I can feel the stupidest expression cross my face.

"Hello," The black haired boy from offstage says, a purple folder, _my purple folder, _in his hands. "I'm Phil, and I'm the one who knocks."

My mouth drops open. "You're-"

"Phil, yes, haven't we just established that?"

"-the boy from the competition." I dumbly finish my sentence. Phil looks puzzled for about three seconds.

"Oh yes, I suppose that was me, wasn't it? I made you mess up in one of the most important qualifying competitions of your life, my mistake." He sticks his hand out for me to shake. I proceed to shake his hand slowly, carefully, gently.

"It's okay… I think you're the reason I qualified, anyway. I wouldn't have gotten in with just my usual piece."

"Ah, (L') Origine Nascosta, originally by Ludovico Einaudi, right?" I close my mouth and squint my eyes.

"Exactly. Did you look in my folder?"

"A bit." He deviously smiles at me. "Anyway, I just came to give this back to you. Sorry for borrowing it."

"You _took it_?" My hands fly up into the air artfully. "I thought that maybe I had just left it somewhere!"

"It was just for a small amount of time, I'll bet you didn't even notice!" I don't say anything, because I definitely didn't notice. "I just needed some new samples."

"Samples for what?" I sigh and grab the folder from him as I lean my body against the doorframe. I page through the sheets in the folder, making sure each one remains where it belongs.

"My music,"

I can feel my eyes brighten. "You're a musician?"

He shakes his head. "DJ/Audiomixer,"

_DJ?_

"What the hell is a DJ doing at a piano competition?"

"I just told you; looking for samples. And I'm not just a DJ, I'm an _audiomixer, _something else I've just told you."

"I heard you say both of those things, I'm just trying to comprehend-"

"I mix audio, hence the title, to make art."

"Oh,"

"I also play the violin."

"You said you weren't a musician," He puts his index finger up to my face.

"Nonono, I just shook my head. That's not a solid no."

I push his finger aside.

"It's pretty close to one."

"Whatever. You should play piano for me sometime."

"I did today. Maybe you should play violin for me."

"I prefer to DJ,"

"Right." Phil has this taunting smirk on his face that makes me unable to keep a straight face. "Thanks for bringing me back my folder."

"Of course, Dan."

I don't even question how he knows my name.

/\\\\\\\

Phil leaves directly after I thank him, leaving me confused, happy, and mad. Happy because I found him, confused because of…him, and mad because he's left me so confused. All of my emotions of the past day have linked back to him. _Why?_

My dad comes back at eleven-thirty, earlier than usual. He doesn't say a single word to me; he just shuts off the lights and the TV at lightning speed before falling onto his bed, fully clothed. His snores fill the room minutes later. I turn to face my back away from his area of rest. The smell of alcohol wafts from his direction.

_My father is not an alcoholic, my father is not mentally abusive, my father is not a mentally abusive alcoholic…_

I fall asleep thinking of Phil.


	3. c h a p t e r t h r e e

We've been home for a week, and thoughts of that Phil boy still remain floating, around in my head. I'm running out of things to think about because I don't really know anything about him besides his name, only his first name at that, and his hobbies. This gives me a lot to wonder about, but my imagination can only take me so far. I still can't remember the color of his eyes.

State is in three weeks, well, two weeks, four days, one hour, and seventeen minutes. It's on April 20st. I want to play my own piece, but my dad tells me it's too risky. I suppose it is, but life is about taking risks. My mom took the risk of scuba diving. I think I'll play my own piece, but just not tell my dad, which would make it the third time I've ever lied to him.

I wince at the memory of my most recent lie.

He's gotten me a tutor for homeschooling so I can focus on my piano. My tutor, Mrs. Henderson, comes every day from 10:00am until 4:00pm. I haven't seen her for quite some time now due to the fact that I've been practicing so much.

My dad sits in the living room of our large house every day from noon until two with a bottle of wine to hear me play; to make sure I practice. I'll have to be sneaky and practice my real piece at night, which is a better fit for me anyway. The night inspires me; makes me feel more awake.

It's 1:43pm, make that 1:44pm. His time is almost up, and I am almost free. I decide to watch some TV after he's gone; I haven't done that in quite some time. My fingers glide against the ivory for sixteen minutes and twenty-three more seconds. It's times like these when I realize how good I am with time. My dad gives me a satisfied nod and a firm pat on the back as he leaves. I let out a sigh of relief and twist my body sideways to lie across my piano bench. My hair dips towards the ground in a triangle formation that my father has threatened to cut off time and time again. I blow on it gently and giggle to myself due to my easy amusement.

My eyes glide across the ground until I spot the remote under the nearby couch. I should be able to reach it without moving too far. I my back arches towards the ground and my fingers tiptoe under the couch, stretching out to their full potential. I feel myself sliding off the bench and towards the floor just as I get a grasp on the black and silver remote. I fall and turn on the TV in exact synchronization. My body makes contact with the ground in a rather loud thud, causing me to groan slightly, even though the accident didn't even hurt all that much.

My head droops to the side lazily, resting lightly on my shoulder. The local news appears on the large screen, and I decide to watch. There is nothing more typical than watching the local news.

"Calling all underground music fans! This weekend, Chicago will be hosting one of the year's biggest music festivals, No Big Names, or NBN. Thousands of unknown, or little known, musicians will perform in the hopes of getting their names out there. Acts stretch from San Francisco based band, The Lady Zombies, to our local DJ, AmazingPhil."

My body flails outward in all directions in a scrambled panic. My hands fly for the pause button on the remote and my feet propel me towards the television.

"All shows are free to the public and all are standing room only. No ticket reservations, no draining of your bank account, no reason not to go! Come downtown to Millennium Park this Saturday through Sunday to experience the highlight of your unnaturally chilly spring."

My fingers finally find the pause function just as the No Big Name promotion poster flashes on the screen. My eyes skim the screen until I see him. Phil. My hand reaches out without me noticing it. My palm touches the screen and stretches out flat across it; my thumb grazes the side of Phil's cheek. I stare wordlessly for quite some time. I then remember that this is not the typical thing to do, and I pull away, backing up until the backs of my knees hit the couch and I topple onto it.

"Phil's going to be in town," I mumble to myself. "Phil's _from Chicago,_" The realization startles me. I had imagined he lived far away and some fairytale world, never to be touched or grasped, only to be imagined. I feel like a schoolgirl.

I allow the news to play on, hoping they'll go on to something a bit less thought provoking.

"Woman Sells Her Daughter's Virginity for Sixty Dollars and Two Kittens,"

I turn off the TV.

/\\\\\\\

In the dead of night, I can feel everything about myself. I can observe every twitch of my toes and every squirm of my tongue. I lie on my bed and wait for the hairs on the nape of my neck to reposition and flick away from their original spots. My keyboard rests in my lap and my earbuds remain perched in my ears. My computer makes a quiet whirring noise perpendicular to me, the No Big Names website up, the directions page ready to be printed. Granted, I know where Millennium Park is, but you can never be sure enough.

It's Wednesday. Saturday and Sunday feel so far away even though it's only 72 hours if you think about it. I'll make it, but I've never been the most patient person. I push my laptop further away from me and sit up. My fingers find the plastic keys and my note-sheet, and I begin to play my own song, the song I'm determined to play.


	4. c h a p t e r f o u r

"You, go to NBN? Ha!" Carrie laughs at the sky, her curly hair sprawled across the overly green grass.

"Hey, show some support, will you?" I groan, rolling over, burying my face in the soft earth. I sigh lightly and close my eyes. "Is it all that weird that I want to go to a music festival?"

"No," Carrie says. "I'm just surprised." I hear her position change due to the rustling of the blades of grass. "Why do you want to go anyway? How are you even getting there?"

"My dad's gone all weekend – he leaves in an hour actually – and he isn't coming home until Sunday at five, so he won't notice if I borrow one of his other cars. I'll only be gone for Saturday anyway." I pause as I consider whether or not to tell her why I'm really going.

"And let me guess," She says before I can even decide whether to tell her or not. "You're going to meet someone."

I sigh. "Correct,"

"A boy,"

I groan and nod into the soft Earth.

"Dan!" Carrie squeals, launching herself on top of me. "Who is he? What's his name? Is he in a band or is he just going to listen? _Is he cute?_"

I squirm under her in a fake fit of uncomfort. "His name's Phil. He's not in a band, he's a DJ, or an audiomixer, I think that's what he called himself." Carrie rolls off of me and I flip over to scout out the sky. "Yeah, he's pretty cute, I guess,"

"He's a DJ?" Carrie wrinkles her nose.

"Audiomixer," I correct her.

"Whatever. How did you meet this Phil guy?"

"He was at my qualifying competition."

"What the hell was a D- an audiomixer doing at a piano competition?"

"That's exactly what I said!" I laugh and shrug my shoulders. "He needed sound bites of some sort or something."

Carrie hums. "That's strange."

"Is it?" I ask.

"No," She grins at me. "Is he going to find it weird that you're going, if you see him, that is."

"Maybe, I haven't really thought about reactions yet," I blush lightly. "I mean, I did ask him to play something for me after he asked me and I- I don't know what I'm doing." I laugh.

"I think it's cute," Carrie twirls a single strand of hair around her slim finger. "I'll go with you, if you'd like."

"Do you think your parents would let you?" I raise an eyebrow at her, fully aware about how strict her parents can be.

"Who cares?"

"Me, I don't want to get you in trouble." I sigh.

"Oh, Dan, such the gentleman."

"Shut up,"

"Phil probably _loves _a gentleman."

"I'm actually going to punch you,"

"I dare you!" Carrie snickers, standing up and spreading her arms out as her toes wiggle in the green. A marvelous grin covers her entire face; her bright eyes closed yet so wide open. Carrie's beauty astonishes me every day, her inward and outward beauty, yet I'm certain I will never feel a romantic attraction towards her. One day, her perfect person will find her, because she can never be bothered with a single task for too long. She'd wait for years if she had to, just as long as she could busy herself with other tasks.

I grab her leg and hoist myself up.

"My dad should be gone soon. Let's go back to my house, I need to show you something." I offer her my hand, which she takes, pulling me before I can pull her.

"I'll race ya, Howell," A determined look crosses her face.

"You're on, Fletcher," I grin wickedly, dropping her hand. "On three?"

She nods. "On Three."

"One…"

"Twothree!" She shouts after taking three running steps. I laugh and run after her, my bare feet patting down tiny twigs and rocks. I ignore the pain and focus on Carrie because really, what's more important than your best friend?

/\\\\\\\

"Don't laugh," I sigh, pushing my laptop towards her as we lie on my bed, the screen showing a document titled 'AmazingPhil'. She eagerly grabs at it, turning up the brightness all the way. "That wastes the battery!"

"Deal with it," She sticks her tongue out at me. Her eyes skim the document at lightning speed, her mouth slowly growing to resemble a circle. I cover my face to hide my embarrassment.

"What do you think?"

"Jesus Christ, Dan," She says softly. "You've got it _so bad_!"

"I do not," I grumble as I cross my arms and pout slightly.

"Whatever, loverboy," She chuckles lightly, stopping abruptly. "I think, I think I'm going to go to Chicago with you tomorrow."

"Why?" I shoot her a warning look.

"I like music, and I want to be there incase something bad happens." She looks concerned.

"Like what?"

"You could get lost, or mugged, or get your heartbroken."

"Heartbreak?"

"Yes, Dan, overwhelming distress and all that jazz."

"What makes you think I'm going to get my heart broken?"

"Well, according to your obsessive document, Phil is just 20, and we're only seventeen."

"Eighteen." I say, looking at her.

"Eighteen in a month; don't cheat yourself. He's 20, Dan; he's DJing in 18 and over bars where there are loads of people, young people. Loads of young, _horny _people."

"What are you even saying?" I ask, leaning against my wall gently.

"I'm saying that I don't want you to get hurt. I'm not saying you're nothing special, I'm just putting it out there that he may not be able to put up with a solid relationship."

"I'm not asking for a relationship," I remind her, leaving out the _not yet _that comes to my mind. "I just want to talk to him, and listen to what he does, okay? I think it'll be cool. He seemed nice." _Nice, and attractive, and smart, and funny, and clever, and interesting. _

Carrie sighs. "Alright, Dan." She scrolls through the document one last time. "I'm still coming with you, you know."

I give her a fragile smile. "I wouldn't have it any other way." She grins and leans towards me as if to peck my cheek. Instead, she decides to lick my ear. "You're disgusting!" I shout, wiping my ear as I burst into hysteria. She starts to laugh along with me, and soon enough, we're practically gasping, unable to make human sounds. We laugh and laugh until the unmistakable noise of the garage door closing erupts from beneath us. I pause my laughter to hear the satisfying noise. I close my eyes and roll off the bed onto the carpet.

"Alone at last."


	5. c h a p t e r f i v e

"Carrie," I call to her from the trunk. "Why the fuck have you packed a 24-pack of bottled water?"

"Ever heard to dehydration, dummy?" She calls from the passenger's seat.

"It's only fifty-four degrees, Carrie. It's May. I don't think we need to worry about it."

"You'll thank me later."

"Probably," I say to myself, closing the trunk with a thud. I walk around to the left side of the car, climbing into the drivers seat. "So," I reach over my left shoulder to grasp my seatbelt. "How the hell did you manage to convince your parents to let you come, and stay over night in Chicago with me?"

"Dan, we've been friends since birth and they're fully aware that you're a flaming homosexual." She brings the sunglasses perched on the top of her head down to shade her eyes. "And maybe I told them we were going to an all day science convention."

I laugh. "Of course you did, despite the fact that we're both getting solid C's in AP Chem."

"Hey, C's are B's in AP classes."

"Regardless!"

We drive in silence for a good ten minutes before Carrie breaks, digging into her purse to fetch her loaded iPod.

"Music is the perfect remedy for anything. Especially nerves." She winks at me and plugs the adaptor cable into the headphone jack. ET by Katy Perry starts to pump through the speakers. I look at Carrie and she looks at me.

"Are you fucking serious?"

"Hell yeah!" She tilts her head back, propping her feet up on the dash. "Jam songs, Dan." She intakes a deep breath before unleashing her God-given talent of song. "You're so hypnotizing. Could you be the devil could you be an angel?"

I roll my eyes and begin to sing along with her.

/\\\\\\\

We arrive forty minutes, our cheeks pink and our throats sore from the singing. A muffled bass line shakes our car as we park. We exit the car to look down at the festival below. Carrie bounces to the rusted railing that protects people from falling. She places one foot after the other on the first rung to get a heightened look.

"I don't think you know how cool this really is, Dan." Carrie says, her eyes trained on the hundreds people below the parking lot on the hill. "All these people have the same singular passion; music. You have the passion, I have the passion, this is just… wow." I wrap an arm around her waist and hug her tightly, knowing she probably needs it.

"Do we know what the lineup is yet?" I ask. Carrie nods, jumping down from her railing and running back to the car. "I have it in here!" She whips the list from out of her bag and hands it to me. My eyes skim over the list. "Phil plays at eight!"

"Eight is like," Carrie looks at her phone. "Five hours away!"

I nod. "It's okay though, because Gemini Club has a two hour time slot at four."

"Did you just say-" Her eyes grow wide as I grin at her.

"Gemini Club is playing on the main stage at four o'clock." Carrie lets out a small scream as she barrels towards me, wrapping her arms around me and jumping up and down.

"You are the best person in the entire world!" She cries into my shoulder. I run my hand over her mess of curls.

"I try, Carrie."

/\\\\\\\

Four o'clock rolls around rather quickly, as do my nerves. My eyes constantly search for Phil, but really what else was there to expect? Carrie's hand holds mine as we weave through the thick crowd of people. My head snaps around every time I see a flick of black hair.

"I hope they play Sparklers."

"They probably will, it's their most popular song. I want them to play Cassini Mission."

"Oh gosh, _that song._" She grips my arm as we find our place in the crowd. The stage crew scurries around for a few more minutes before the stage lights calm and figures move from the shadows. The techno sound of Sparklers erupts from the speakers, and I remember how to live.

_I don't know _

_or understand_

_you say it's hard right now. _

_It's in my head. _

_Spending all my time. _

_Keep you wide awake. _

I sway to the beat of my favorite band, Carrie twirling at my side. We clap and sing at the top of our lungs just as the people around us do. It's been so long since I've felt occupied; since I've felt wanted. The crowd consumes me and people brush against my sides. Someone even grabs my hand. I look at them with a smiling face. A warm blue greets me.

_It's hard to know the ending yet, _

_because your heart,_

_right now, _

_is in my hands._

_And it's all I know,_

_it's all I can keep safe._

"Holy shit," I say quietly, looking at Phil. He smiles at me and puts an arm around my shoulder swaying to the beat of the connecting chorus. He leans in close to my ear.

"I've missed you." He says in a playful tone that's probably louder than I think it is.

"You don't even know me."

"I've been to your past six competitions. I know a lot about you. I know your beauty and weakness."

"We've talked once."

"No, we've talked many times, last competition was the only time that I've replied." I shake my head and stare at the stage. "We talk through music."

_ So drive off the freeway,_

_that wouldn't kill you, _

_it would only ease your worried mind._

_And take all your money_

_I told you to spend it,_

_you'll never need anything._

_You and I._

Phil grabs my hand and twirls me around, making Carrie finally notice us. I see her gasp and shriek in a act of pure joy. Phil smiles at her and pulls me close to him, my back hitting his chest. I feel as if I'm in a club, and in ways, I really am. We stand like this for a few seconds before his hips start to move and I follow his lead gently. I throw my head back and lean into him.

"So what is a pianist doing at a music festival?" He says into my ear once again.

"I was looking for someone." I glance to my left to see Carrie dancing with some guy with a wildly print shirt that I've never seen before.

"And who would that be?" Phil's hands find my waste carefully as if not to scare me away. I roll my eyes.

"You."

_Climb every night in your burning tree._

_and keep you head up tight _

_with your broken needs._

_And keep your guard up now,_

_and you'll only see it's not the fighting time._

_Don't go retreat._

_When you climb every night on your frozen peak, _

_keep your eyes on mine with your broken needs_

_and keep your arms up high,_

_so that I can see the light._

_**did i really just make them grind jfc i hope you guys liked this and this made sense idk the story is finally picking up i think. anyways, we're gonna do a new thing and idk if this is cool or not with you guys. the next chapter will be posted when this chapter gets three reviews. yEah! ! is that okay? no? yes? ok bye**_


	6. c h a p t e r s i x

"What's this?" I ask as a thin piece of plastic is placed in my hand.

"Fake I.D." Phil smiles, holding up his own. "I expect you want to see my show?" He doesn't say it in an arrogant way; it's more in the tone of awareness. I nod.

"That's why he's here, you know." Carrie laughs, twisting a strand of hair between her slim fingers. She had refused a fake I.D., insisting that she'll busy herself in other ways. I blush at her words, but I don't try to deny it.

"You promised you'd play for me." I mumble to Phil. We stand outside the venue where it's quieter by Phil's car. He needed to get his extra speaker for his show anyway. It's only just hitting me that I've pretty much had my first clubbing experience. My blood is on fire and my skin burns for physical contact.

"And I will," Phil checks his phone. "In fifty-five minutes."

"And I'll legally hear you from outside," Carrie comments, a grin plastered across her face. She taps my ankle with the toe of her shoe. "I'm gonna go meet Alex at the food trucks."

"Who's Alex?" I run a hand through my hair.

"Just a guy I met at the concert." She hums, backing away from me slowly.

"Oh. Be careful."

"I will."

"Be safe."

"I will!"

"Make sure he knows the definition of the word 'no'!"

"_I will!_" She laughs, turning on her heels and disappearing around the corner.

"She's nice," Phil gives me a gentle smile. He reaches into his car and lets out a small groan. "Can you help me with this speaker?" I quickly walk over to his side. I take half of the speaker in my arms as Phil grabs the other end.

"Heavy," I grunt, bouncing the massive equipment up my forearms. "Shouldn't this be set up already?"

"Yeah, sorry. We thought we had all six set up, but it turns out we were one short." Phil's hair flops into his eyes. "I should really get a haircut."

"Don't," I blurt out. Phil smiles at me again, cause a blush to travel to my cheeks. "I-I mean, it suits you."

"Thanks," He happily looks at me. "Okay, we move this into the building on three."

"Wait, where's there an entrance?"

"Around back, there's a garage door that's open."

We count in unison and lug the black box into the hall leading to the venue. It's dim and warm and slightly smells of pot.

"So you smoke?" I ask the question carefully as we shimmy the speaker into place for the sound guys.

Phil shakes his head. "Never. I don't even drink. It's the worst part about all of this; the smell."

I shrug. "I kind of like it." He stares at me. "Oh, not the drinking or smoking! No, I've never even had a beer. I'm talking about the smell." A flash of understanding crosses Phil's face.

"Oh, I get it. Yeah, this place isn't even bad, to be honest. The worst I've been to is The Rave up in Milwaukee. I swear, you step on that roof and see green."

I laugh. "My sister used to work there, actually. She commuted every Saturday."

"Did she smoke?" Phil motions for me to walk up a nearby flight of metal stairs with him.

"Oh yeah. She never did until my mom died, though." Phil doesn't look shocked by my words. "She graduated high school two years ago and I haven't seen her since."

"When did your mom pass?" We reach the top of the stairs and Phil takes my hand, pulling me along an above-crowd walkway. "Be careful, it can be kind of shaky." I look at our hands before responding.

"She passed about five years ago…she drowned."

"I'm sorry."

"Hey, you didn't kill her."

We walk a ways further; Phil's thumb stroking over the back of my hand as he leads me over the sea or people waiting for him.

"I probably should've asked if you're afraid of heights." He chuckles.

"I'm not." I look down at the tiny, ant-like people.

"I am." Phil's grip on me tightens. "Well, that's not entirely true. I'm more afraid of falling. The height has nothing to do with it." We walk a bit further until we run into a stout, balding man wearing a headset. "Hey, Tom!"

"Phil! Long time, no see! What has it been, four hours?" The man, Tom, has the jolliest voice in the entire world. "Shouldn't you be getting ready for your show?"

"I'm totally ready. Sound check was good, you were there for that, I tuned my instruments for the weather, I polished my cables, I checked off everything." He pauses. "What time is it?"

"Ten to eight."

"Shit, I need to change my clothes." He drops my hand. "Tom, can you show Dan where to go, please? I don't want him to weave through the crowd alone."

"'Course,"

"Thank you," Phil smiles at me and expectantly pecks my cheek. "Good first date, I think."

_Date…_

It rings in my ears like the sweet sound of church bells. Phil slaps Tom's back and retreats towards the direction we came from.

"Yeah," I mutter my late response, placing my hand on my cheek. Tom laughs and motions for me to move forward.

"New town, new guys, I suppose." He says as we reach another small set of stairs going down.

"What do you mean?" I ask, sticking my thumb through my belt loop.

"Phil's always on this quest to find 'the One'. He never stops looking, never ever, and all the guys he brings are different. I don't get it."

_All the guys…_

"It usually takes him ten minutes to get bored with someone, just ten."

"It's been two weeks." I mumble, chewing on my lip.

"Shit, really?" Tom seems genuinely surprised. "He's never-"

"He was at my piano competition and distracted the fuck out of me."

"He tends to do that. Wait, you must be Dan…"

I give him a look. "Yeah, how'd you-?"

"Shit…shit, you're Dan! You're Daniel Howell!" I've never seen a grown man so happy. Then again, I've never been to a Super Bowel party either. "Phil refuses to shut up about you! He had your address, but then he lost it and he thought he was never going to see you again! _You're Dan! He found you!_"

"I am Dan," _And I feel loved. _

/\\\\\\\

Phil's stage presence is overwhelming. He talks with the crowd, plays what the crowd wants, and even improvises songs that have no sense of existence. I know he can't see me from on stage, the lights are too bright, but he looks like he's staring at me, right at my little corner of balcony. His music is nothing like I've ever experienced. It's pop-y and classical and electronic, all brought together by his smooth, distant voice. He stands behind his soundboard with such a stance that could make a king bow down. He's powerful yet silly, strong yet gentle. He's everything I've ever aspired to be. He is my dream in human form.

Applause rips through the air as his set finishes. The deafening roar of the crowd makes my head spin and my knees feel weak.

"What if," Phil breathes heavily into the microphone. "I play one more song?" The audience goes nuts, and I find the deep-rooted excitement that rests behind my ribcage. "This one's gonna be a bit different." He ducks down to pick up something. He emerges with the prettiest violin I've ever laid eyes on. My mouth drops open and I can't help but reach out to attempt to touch the smooth wood even though it's hundreds of feet away.

"I'm going to play a new song that I've never played before." He wipes the sweat off of his forehead. "It's titled Ivory Boy. This one's for you, Dan." His bow hits the strings, and I swear I can feel my heart sing.

_**this motivates me! let's get up to 21 reviews for the next chapter! ily guys x**_


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